


Almond

by SerpentineJ



Series: Fluffy AU Hannigram Key Word Oneshots [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, In which Will is a pastry chef, M/M, and Hannibal has a fine palate, fluffy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 23:34:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2559896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentineJ/pseuds/SerpentineJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal pops the almond puff pastry into his mouth. It melts into his mouth, sugar dissolving delicately onto his tongue. Beautiful. He scans the walls of the ornate ballroom for the door to the kitchens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almond

**Author's Note:**

> Yessss, I am doing one of these Fluffy Key Word AU series for Hannigram.
> 
> Oh, someone inquired after my tumblr. You can find it at serpentinej.tumblr.com

Hannibal gazes around the ballroom, the derision he feels for the gaudy people in gaudier clothing not showing on his face. At least the food is good, he muses, and thinks that he must find the chef later and compliment him. 

At last dessert is brought out, rich cakes and succulent tarts adorning the white tables, and he makes his way to pick up a plate. The selection is utterly divine, he finds, letting a whisper of honey dance across his palate.

He scans the walls of the ornate ballroom for the silver door to the kitchen.

~~~~~~

Will strides across the floor to the sink, plunging his gloved hands into the steaming water and beginning to scrub at the pots and baking sheets soaking there. Beverly and Price are exhausted after cooking for several hours straight and Zeller is still busy tending the bar. It’s ridiculous, he reflects, that his bakery is one of the premiere ones in Virginia but he keeps putting off hiring extra help.

Speaking of extra help…

Abigail walks in to the kitchens, carrying another stack of empty platters to be refilled. Will sighs. His pastries are disappearing like free cocaine in a crack den like he knew they would, but the knowledge doesn’t make it any more tiring. 

“You alright, Will?” the Hobbs girl asks, pausing in arranging delicate strawberry éclairs on a silver tray. “This is a big job.”

He sighs, washing his hands. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

~~~~~~

Will is sitting at the counter, munching on a cream puff when he walks in.

“Hello?” He asks, narrowing his eyes at the newcomer. He’s tall, with ashen blond hair and a sharp, tanned face with high cheekbones. ”Who are you?

The mystery man’s eyes settle on him and Will see’s they’re an odd kind of brown, looking almost red in the shadows, then a light hazel when they catch the light. “Are you the pastry chef?”

“Yes, I am.” Graham clears his throat and stands up, brushing his hands self-consciously on his apron. “Erm, what can I help you with?” He assumes the man is a guest of the function; he’s wearing a three-piece plaid suit and seems… aristocratic, in a way.

“My name is Hannibal Lecter. I merely wanted to convey my compliments regarding the food; your cuisine is some of the finest I have ever tasted, and I used to live in Europe.” Lecter walked closer, somehow fluid, deliberate in his movements, and Will instinctively backs up. “The culinary arts are also a favorite pastime of mine. Do you enjoy cooking, Mr…”

“Er. Graham.” Will coughs. “Will Graham. I actually didn’t start out cooking or baking… used to be a detective.” He smiled derisively. “And then… well, I started Graham and Katz’s with my friend.”

~~~~~~

Hannibal strides into the stainless steel kitchen, curious at how… empty it is. Usually catering companies will have four… five chefs. Where…

There’s a man sitting at the counter.

A beautiful man.

Strong jaw with a hint of stubble, tousled, curly brown hair, strikingly blue-green eyes.

“Hello?” The man’s looking up at him, slight suspicion tinging his expression. “Who are you? Hannibal notices his soft pink lips, pursed in confusion. “Who are you?”

Lecter shakes himself and, without thinking, starts into some kind of monologue. He hears himself say, “Do you enjoy cooking, Mr…”

“Er. Graham.” Graham stands and looks adorably uncertain, eyes flickering from Hannibal’s tie to his face and back again. “Will Graham.”

Will Graham. Hannibal smiles.

~~~~~~

Abigail finishes loading the truck with all the ingredients and supplies, throwing in a leftover bag of flour with a groan. She trots back into the kitchen to tell Will everything is done, only to see him chatting with a tall, dark-blonde man in a suit.

William Graham. Chatting with someone. Abigail smiles increasingly happily, watching them, her blue eyes sparkling as she sees Will smile and look downwards, fiddling with the watch on his wrist, and the mysterious man’s body language shifts into something more open, more welcoming. A deep chuckle rumbles through the room; too deep to be Will’s.

Will deserves to be happy, she thinks.

~~~~~~

“So, Will…” Abigail nudges him in the shoulder as he’s driving down the road, a grin playing across her lips. “Who was Mr. Suit?”

“What? Oh. Er.” Will says, turning his head for a split second to look at her. “Dr. Lecter is very… interesting. He asked after my recipes, I declined to reveal them, and we made pleasant conversation for several minutes before he took his leave.” At Abigail’s playfully doubtful look, he sighs. “Was I really that obvious?”

She sits back in her chair, satisfied. “I knew it. You were blushing, Will Graham. Blushing and flirting and fluttering your hands.”

He groans and smacks a hand on the steering wheel, cursing at his own awkwardness. Hannibal Lecter is a rather handsome man, though. And intelligent. 

~~~~~~

Lecter is situated in his favorite chair by the fire, sipping thoughtfully at a tumbler of whiskey. The good kind; no watered-down replicas for Hannibal Lecter. 

His mind keeps straying to the delightful man he’s met this evening. Will Graham. An enigma wrapped in a beautiful young man with a charming smile and an impressive aptitude in the kitchen.

Will Graham is fascinating, he decides, taking another mouthful of the amber liquid in his crystal glass. 

He’ll have to keep an eye on him. Perhaps make his acquaintance.

~~~~~~

Hannibal spends weeks planting the quiet seeds of suggestion in the susceptible gardens of the minds of the wealthy, offhandedly mentioning the “remarkable things” he’d heard about Graham and Kats’, how he’d enjoyed their food (and everyone knew he was a man of discerning taste). 

When he walks into the kitchen near the conclusion of the ball hosted, this time, in the mayor’s favorite banquet hall, he fully expects Will to be sitting at the counter again, alone, eating a pastry.

He’s not.

Alone, that is.

Hannibal feels the slightest stirrings of something sour in his chest as he sees Dr. Chilton, a formidable fellow psychiatrist, chatting amicably with Will, Will laughing at something the doctor says. 

“Hello, Will.” Lecter strides forwards, using his height to his advantage, feeling his presence fill the room. It has the added effect of literally putting Dr. Chilton into the shadows, the shorter man leaning on his cane. “Frederick.”

Graham looks up at him, still smiling from Chilton’s undoubtedly sarcastically witty quip, and practically beams From the looks of things he's indulged in a little alcohol as the night wore on. Hannibal doesn't blame him. “Hello, Hannibal. Fancy seeing you here.”

Chilton is looking between them, a slightly bemused expression overtaking his features. “You two… know each other?”

“Indeed.” Hannibal feels obliged to answer. “After the fantastic job Will did at catering to Mrs. Knobb’s last event, I felt the need to pay my compliments to the chef.”

Graham blushes and looks at the tiled floor, one hand fiddling with the arm of his glasses, held near his stomach. “No need to flatter, Dr. Lecter.” 

“It’s not flattery, Mr. Graham.” The other psychiatrist butts in with a smile, laying a hand inconspicuously on the other man’s wrist. Hannibal’s lips tighten. “Your pastries are delightful.”

They make conversation for a few more minutes, Chilton touching Will annoyingly often.

Clapping his hands, Will says, “Well, gentlemen, I really do have to go; Abigail will make me bake the pies for a week if I saddle her with my cleaning duty again and I do hate rolling crusts.” He turns to Chilton and hands him a business card. “Frederick, it has been grand. Do call me up and we can go fishing sometime.” Hannibal feels a twinge in his gut before Will turns to him and hands him an identical card. “Hannibal. Call me sometime and we can exchange recipes?” 

With a smile, Will disappears into the back and there are sounds of clattering dishes. 

Recognizing he’s been… dismissed, Lecter turns to the other man. “It’s been lovely seeing you, Frederick.”

“And you, Hannibal.” They shake hands and go their separate ways, Chilton’s cane tapping against the floor, Hannibal’s sharp, shined shoes clicking against the linoleum.

~~~~~~

A bird flits by the window, startling Hannibal out of his contemplation of the birdfeeder. He watches as the cardinal pecks at the sunflower seeds and grain he’s left out there, cracking open shells and snapping up morsels in its small, sharp beak.

His thoughts are consumed by Will Graham.

He seems to be thinking often of him, Lecter muses, rubbing his lips with his right hand absentmindedly. What does he know about him? Graham is physically attractive, sure, but Hannibal has met all manner of beautiful people. Many of them had turned out to be unspeakably rude, souring the pleasant effect they have on his eyes by the acidic vitriol that spews from their lips.

Will is different. He can practically taste it, that strange oddity, a flavor he can’t quite place.

Perhaps he should throw a dinner party.

~~~~~~

“Hello?” Abigail answers Will’s cell after hastily washing her hands of residual flour. “This is Will Graham’s phone.”

A deep voice sounds on the other end. “Hello. May I speak to Will, please?”

She almost drops the phone, then giggles, recognizing the accent of the handsome man Will had been clumsily flirting after Mrs. Knobb’s charity ball. “Ah. Yes, I’ll tell him to come out, Mr…”

“Lecter. Hannibal Lecter.”

Abigail smiles, a slightly wicked tint to it. “Will!” She calls, not bothering to cover the microphone on the cell in her hands and walking into the main kitchen where Will is delicately frosting cupcakes. He starts, jerked out of his “frosting zone” (“That’s stupid!” She protests. He flicks her on the nose, laughing, and says, “Don’t underestimate the power of the frosting zone, Abigail.”)

“Damn it, Abigail. If that’s Mr. Haversham, tell him I’m not interested. Again.” He scowls, muttering, “I don’t need a damn fake passport.”

“There’s a Mr. Lecter on the phone.” She winks at him.

He sputters, nearly dropping his pastry bag (the frosting is lavender, she notes) on the table as he makes to grab the phone. He’s blushing. The dark-haired girl grins.

“Er. Hello, Hannibal.” Will makes shooing motions with his hands, and Abigail leaves after a final smirk.

“Hello, Will.” Hannibal is ever-present on the other end. “Was that your daughter?”

“Oh, no, no.” Graham laughs, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand in embarrassment. “She’s my… charge. Her father is institutionalized and I… took her in.” He sighs exasperatedly, but Lecter can hear the fondness in his voice. “She thinks I need a social life.” In the next room Abigail snickers, an ear pressed to a glass resting on the wooden wall. “And a romantic life.” Will mutters under his breath. 

Hannibal smiles, just a small quirk of the lips. “Well, if you would indulge one…" Romantic or social, he doesn't clarify. "I am hosting a small get-together for a few of my colleagues and friends at my home, and was wondering if you would join me.” He pauses. “Abigail is welcome too, of course.”

“Er…” Will stutters, face flaming now. “I don’t want to impose…” 

“You wouldn’t be imposing, but gracing me with your company.” Lecter crosses his legs in his desk chair, leaning back. “You and Abigail are welcome to arrive early; we can exchange culinary tricks.” 

Graham props himself up against the stainless steel counter in the middle of his kitchen. “Well, if you’re sure we wouldn’t be a bother…” He says hesitantly.

“It would be a pleasure to have you to my home, I assure you.”

~~~~~~

Abigail fumbles to put the glass away, wiping the rim clean and stacking it neatly among the others. She fights the urge to let the ridiculous grin she feels bubbling in her cheeks burst onto her face.

Really, though. Dinner and a show of an attractive European and her godfather dancing awkwardly around each other? She wouldn’t miss it for all the macaroons in Will’s secret stash.

~~~~~~

Hannibal snaps his phone shut, gazing out the window with a satisfied smile on his face. 

He’ll have to begin drawing up a menu.

~~~~~~

Will groans, flopping back onto his bed, scratching the head of the dog sleeping on his mattress. 

How is it that he can have an entire closet full of clothing but nothing fitting for this occasion?

Abigail knocks and opens the door at Graham’s “come in”, muffled by the pillow he’s slung over his face. “Will? I heard cursing.” She stops, taking in the spectacle in front of her, and tsks. “Honestly, you’re worse than a teenage girl. And that's coming from an actual teenage girl."

He hears her rifling through his closet, the hangers clicking and clothing ruffling as she pores through them. “What about this one?” She holds up a nice blue blazer and a dark gray turtleneck. “The blue brings out your eeeeyyyyyes.” Abigail draws out the last word, smirking and making a face. He throws the pillow at her.

“Do you want me to call Auntie Katz?” She threatens, only half-jokingly. Will groans, pulling himself up, objecting to anyone calling Beverly. If she found out they were meeting someone for dinner she’d never let up. “You know I will.”

“Fine, fine.” He huffs, grabbing the jacket and sweater and picking a pair of slacks. “We’re leaving in ten minutes. Grab the best bottle of Riesling we have from the cellar, would you? And some of those almond puffs.”

~~~~~~

“Good evening, Will.” Hannibal opens his ornate front door, smiling at the sight of the man and his pseudo-daughter standing on his welcome mat. “Please, come in.”

Abigail is smiling giddily, seeing the burgeoning flush on Will’s face and the interest in Lecter’s eyes. Her grin only widens when she takes in the beautifully furnished front hall of the house they are welcomed into and she silently thanks her persistence in making Will wear that blazer instead of his usual flannel and jeans. “Hello, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal shuts the door behind him, watching Graham take in his home. He seems intrigued, curious. “And you must be the lovely Abigail.” He bends to kiss the back of her hand, a true gentleman. Will rolls his eyes.

“Oh!” Will fumbles with the bag he’s holding. “We brought some dessert wine. And some of those almond puff pastries you seemed to enjoy last time.”

Lecter takes the offered box and bottle with a smile, and says, “Thank you very much; your pastries are divine and I doubt your taste in wine is any less so. Please, let me show you around.”

~~~~~~

They tour his house, Abigail inquiring about several pieces of beautiful art (many of which are Dr. Lecter’s own sketches), Will trying not to give away how impressed he is with the place. 

His façade (and his jaw) drops when they enter the kitchen, though; state-of-the-art machines and expensive tools line the walls and the smells that permeate the air make Will lick his lips.

Hannibal sees Graham’s reaction to his kitchen and smiles. 

~~~~~~

The dinner is a smashing success.

Literally; Alana Bloom dropped her plate when she saw Hannibal and Will making out against the kitchen counter later in the evening.

At least it was his great-aunt’s ugly china set, Hannibal muses.

**Author's Note:**

> Holy cannoli (pun intended), this got long. Like, almost 2600 words long. And I didn't even give it a proper seduction scene.
> 
> Comment? What did you think?


End file.
